


roulette

by willowcabins



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2556356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcabins/pseuds/willowcabins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's been exactly 4 hours," Martine explained helpfully, "since you went missing. Your machine has registered you as MIA, probably dead." Shaw didn't react to that. It was military procedure in situations of impossible retrieval to register an operative as dead; Shaw had known that the minute she had met Martine in the street earlier that night. "Are you not surprised?"<br/>(i.e. Shaw is captured; Root must save her).</p>
            </blockquote>





	roulette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karastantons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karastantons/gifts).



Shaw fluttered awake. She gasped experimentally; she could breathe. Her lungs worked, no ribs were broken. She shifted; her arms hurt and tightened behind her. They had been expertly tied back; the zip tie was too tight to budge the slightest. Shaw's feet, she quickly confirmed, were also tied against the chair; an experimental tiny tug hurt her knee though. She looked up. Martine was smirking at her.

"I had to inject you through the knee," she explained casually, walking over to the bin in the corner with casual purposefulness, twirling an empty syringe in her hand. Shaw watched her carefully, listening as she timed her steps carefully with the stresses of her words.

"What did you inject me with?" Shaw asked quietly (dangerously). Martine chuckled and dropped the empty plastic shell with a soft thud.

"Shaw," she murmured softly, stepping forward again. She leaned on the table in the center of the room with a smile. "We both know we have done the _exact_ same training. I know exactly how you checked your restraints when you woke up; I know all the thoughts you're having right now." Martine circled Shaw and stood behind her, hand on her shoulder. "Exit," she said, pointing at the door. "Potential other exit?" She repeated, pointing at the large one sided mirror on Shaw's left. Martine pointed at herself. "Obstacle."

"Wrong," Shaw said, looking up through her bangs with a smirk. Martine raised an eyebrow.

"What did I get wrong?" She asked politely, skeptically. Shaw nodded at her.

"I don't think obstacle when i see you," she explained. "I think 'bitch'." Martine chuckled and shook her head in disappointment.

"Bitch?" She repeated skeptically, trailing a hand over the metallic surface of the table. Shaw watched critically as her body heat left small, nearly invisible, marks on condensation. She looked at her watch and then grinned at Shaw.

"It's been exactly 4 hours," she explained helpfully, "since you went missing. Your machine has registered you as MIA, probably dead." Shaw didn't react to that. It was military procedure in situations of impossible retrieval to register an operative as dead; Shaw had known that the minute she had met Martine in the street earlier that night. "Are you not surprised?" She asked. Shaw scoffed.

"I am only surprised I'm still alive."

"I think your machine cares about you. You weakened it by injecting it with this strange fascinating humanity."

"What?"

"Your machine needs an analog interface; it needs organic eyes and carbon based ears to hear. Mine doesn't."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh Shaw," she tusked, "even before you dropped out of the Northern Lights program, you knew what I was talking about."

"I do not," Shaw relentlessly disagreed.

"Sameen Shaw; graduated from US marine corps in 2001. Are you really telling me you know nothing?" Martine pulled out her gun from the holster and cocked it carefully. It was a small semi-automatic, sleek and black. She pressed the black, cold nuzzle against Shaw's forehead, pressing it down. Shaw didn't blink.

"Do you think someone will come save you?" Martine asked, gun making flesh white with pressure. Shaw did not answer; she just stared into Martine's eyes. "Do you really think a collection of plastic wires could care about your welfare? Do you think your cyborg friend would ever sacrifice the welfare of her organic body for someone as easily replaced as you?" Martine tilted her head with the question; her eyes were searching Shaw and she gently leaned forward.

"No."

"You don't? Always the good soldier, Shaw."

"I don't care," Shaw repeated. Martine slipped the safety back on the gun and pulled the gun back from Shaw’s forehead. There was a small circle on Shaw's skin where the muzzle had pushed into the flesh. Martine smirked as she placed the gun down on the table.

"You say that," she began, "but I don't believe you." Shaw didn't have anything to respond to that; instead she just watched. Martine leaned forward and drew her thumb along the rings of Shaw's eyes. It was an incredibly intimate gesture, one that made Shaw shudder despite herself. Martine smiled again, though this time her expression was softer. "Your eyes spark when you lie," she murmured. Her breath was warm and smelled of chewing gum.

"They don't," Shaw replied flatly. Martine sighed and straightened up. She looked around the room, thoughtfully, and then began circling Shaw.

"We could play a game," she decided. "A fun game. Did you know I loved games?"

"I could have guessed," Shaw muttered, voice laden with sarcasm.

"Interesting word choice there, Shaw," Martine cooed, coming to a stop behind Shaw. "I could have guessed," she repeated. "You could have," she decided, "but you didn't. Which means that you haven't been spending as much time studying _me_ , as I have been spending watching _you_. I'm offended, Shaw."

"Offended? Or relieved?"

"Offended. And look, now you're not even reading me. You're distracted!"

"Distracted?"

"Let's see if I can't focus you..." She knocked on the mirror, and was let out of the room. Shaw counted the seconds; she was gone for nearly two minutes. Shaw took a deep breath when she heard faint footsteps approaching the door again. Shaw was not afraid of pain, but there was something within her that instinctively cringed away from the thought. Pain was like a sour candy; the thought aroused a certain type of aversion, a slight tang at the back of her throat, but it was not fear.

Someone re-entered the room; the high heels had the same click as Martine’s, but Shaw waited to see Marine’s reflection in the mirror before she decided it was definitely her. In one hand, Martine held a small plastic cup of water. In the other, an old-fashioned .177 caliber silver revolver. Martine put the gun down on the table with a metallic clink.

“Drink first,” she instructed. She held the cup to Shaw’s lips; watching her carefully, Shaw drank. Martine smiled, and the put the cup down gently.

“What you’re doing is illegal,” Shaw pointed out. Martine laughed and raised an eyebrow playfully.

“That is your best defense, Shaw?” she asked, cheerfully. Shaw didn’t answer: she just watched. Martine sighed and slid off the table and began circling Shaw slowly. “Don’t you think its a wonderful mark of my power that you can remind me of the illegality of my actions, and in the middle of a police station, I can tell you I don’t give a fuck?”

“You won’t get away with this,” Shaw murmured. Martine laughed and settled into a crouch in front of Shaw, leaning her elbows on Shaw’s knees.

“You say that, Shaw,” she murmured, “but we both know you have gotten away with far worse. So what makes us different?”

“I’m on the right side.”

“The right side? Or just the other side?” Martine asked, quirking an eyebrow. Shaw just clenched her jaw. Martine grinned and straightened up.  

“While you ponder that one,” she said cheerfully, picking up the revolver, “I’m going to explain a little game to you. Have you ever heard of russian roulette?” Shaw deadpanned her. Martine’s grin widened.

“Great!” She cooed. “Because I have a bullet here,” she pulled out a small brass bullet and interested it into one of the chambers of the gun. Then she spun the wheel and closed the gun swiftly.

“You can’t kill me in here,” Shaw told her levelly.

“Oh Shaw,” Martine murmured, stepping forward, “You are very naive.” She sat down on Shaw’s thighs heavily and then brushed her hair out her eyes again. “You are not safe here,” she murmured; her breath ghosted across Shaw’s lips. Shaw thinned her lips. Martine grinned. She slid a hand around the back of Shaw’s neck. “I could kill you whenever I wanted to,” Martine continued. There was a click as she took the safety off the revolved. Cold metal pressed under Shaw’s chin, on her neck. She shivered; the touch was unpleasant on her skin. Martine leaned forward so her and Shaw’s foreheads were touching. She looked searchingly into Shaw’s eyes.

“Where is the new bat cave?” She murmured.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Shaw replied evenly. Martine smilled. She squeezed the trigger. There was a hollow clicking sound as the mechanism of the gun shot an empty round at Shaw. Shaw swallowed.

At this range she would be dead before she even realised.

She was not afraid.

Martine pulled back a little and tilted her head. “You didn’t even blink,” she observed; there was an edge to her voice. She was impressed. Shaw smirked.

“Do you really think that was the first time I played russian roulette?” Shaw asked. Martine shifted forward slightly. She gripped Shaw's jaw in her hand and stared into her eyes. She chuckled, and tilted her head.

"it is the first time you played it," she decided. "You were a doctor, remember, Shaw? You believed in life. You thought it was sacred. You worked to protect it. This is not a game you would play."

"Its a game psychopaths play," Shaw snapped. Martine chuckled and let go of Shaw's jaw, instead running her hand through her hair affectionately.

"You are very bad at reading people," she murmured. Shaw rolled her eyes.

"I knew that," she snapped. Martine chuckled. She tilted Shaw's head up gently and ran her thumb over Shaw's lips. Shaw allows the affectionate gesture; she knows there is something dominating about this type of affection. Martine leans forward and kisses her; at first lightly, and then deeper. Shaw opened her mouth to the rough kiss and pushed herself upwards. Martine laughed.

"You do know how to play these games," she murmured. Shaw tilted her head as she extracted herself from Shaw. She was still holding the pistol. She threw it up in the air, and then caught it, muzzle in her hand. Shaw knew what would come next; she would hit Shaw with the butt of the pistol, and Shaw would pass out, probably with a broken cheekbone.

It's what she would do.

She offered her face for the challenge. Martine chuckled; her voice sounded richer now, more ladened with power. She slammed the butt of the pistol into Shaw's face, but too low to know Shaw out. Her face snapped to the left, and she hissed in pain. Her cheekbone wasn't broken; she could just feel the pain welling up, white hot, underneath her skin.

"I like it when you anticipate my actions," Martine decided, her voice low. Shaw looked up at her and spat blood on the ground in front.

"She doesn't like it when you say that." Root's voice cut through the air; clear and crystalline. Shaw twisted in her chair; she was standing in the doorway, leaning against it. Martine barely had a second to react, but before she could twist the gun in her hand to shoot, Root had shot her first. A shot to the thigh, and then one to the shoulder. She sighed as she advanced on Martine as she collapsed.

"She said no killing," she sighed, stepping on Martine's hand. Martine let go of the gun; Root pushed it away. "She always cares about people, even if they are scum," she sighed.

"Root, untie me," Shaw hissed. Root turned around to grin at Shaw. She approached her rapidly and untied her.

"It's kind of embarrassing," Root pointed out as she sliced through thick rope bond.

"What's embarrassing?" Shaw asked, rubbing sore hands together.

"When I was held captured and tortured, I managed to escape all on my own."

"You had help," Shaw scoffed. Root rolled her eyes.

"If you _listened_ , you would have had help too." Shaw raised an eyebrow and jolted upright as she finally finished untying her ankles from the chair. Root sighed and grabbed Shaw's shoulder, forcing her to stand with her face towards the mirror. She tilted her head, and grinned. "Listened," she instructed. Shaw heard little but the ragged breathing of a woman in pain at her feet. But then she listened harder; small, miniscule beeps. Almost too low for her to head. "It's morse code," Root explained. "It means 'i will help'."

"Is that you, or Her?"

"Are we really that different?"

"I don't really know anymore."

"Good. That's how she likes it."

  
  
  



End file.
